


How the Boy Became a Man

by IWishBeautifulThings



Series: Playing the Game [2]
Category: The Selection Series - Kiera Cass
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't say I never gave you anything you wanted, F/M, Maxon POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26552029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWishBeautifulThings/pseuds/IWishBeautifulThings
Summary: A series of Maxon outtakes from my AU, Playing the Game! Not entirely necessary to read that before this, but would be very helpful.
Relationships: Maxon Schreave/America Singer
Series: Playing the Game [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930909
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	1. In the Gardens

**Author's Note:**

> Look, the first Maxon outtake! This one is set in chapter 10 of Playing the Game, but you'll figure that out pretty quickly. Thanks for reading!

I quickly slip down the hallway, trying to escape the rather large group of people who are all talking about me in the foyer at this very moment. I make my way to my office quickly shutting the door behind me, finally taking a deep breath.

I would have been nervous enough if it had just been America's family, but having to meet Kriss, Elise, Celeste, _and_ Natalie's families at the same time was nearly too much. So many people with so many expectations… and I know I'm going to let down so many people. I wonder if this would be more or less stressful if I hadn't made my choice already.

Would it be easier to face them all, with no idea who would be the only one left with me in a month? Would it be harder to face Elise's parents, to see the expectation in their faces, and wonder if I could meet it? At least this way, I know I'm going to fail them all.

Frankly, I couldn't care less.

I don't give a damn if Celeste's parents like me, or if Elise's family curses my name for the rest of their lives. I would be disappointed if Kriss grew to hate me, but if that's what it takes to win America, then so be it. None of this surprises me; I was prepared to feel this way.

What does surprise me, however, is the desperation with which I want to be a part of the Singer family.

Coming to the top of the stairway, seeing them run to each other and collapse on the floor, so completely _overjoyed_ to finally be reunited that they could not physically contain themselves. No one has ever been that happy to see me, even my mother. She is always the picture of decorum. I know that she misses me when I leave, and she is always glad to see me back, of course, but it is not the same as the affection I saw this afternoon.

I had to hold myself back in the hallway and peer out over the stairs, utterly fascinated, longing to go over and offer my hand to America's father, kiss her mother's hand, and to introduce myself as the man who is in love with their daughter. But I had to wait, treat them with no more interest than I would with the other families.

It wasn't torture, but was closer to it than my father would have liked.

I move to my desk, unbuttoning my suit coat as I pull a stack of budget reports to me. _Having guests is not an excuse to shirk your duties_ , my father's voice echoes in my head. _Especially when the majority of those guests will be wholly irrelevant in six months' time_.

I doubt he has any idea which guests will remain relevant.

I sigh, sifting through the papers, retaining nearly no information.

I just wish there was some way to _prove_ to her that it's over for me; I know she worries that I'll change my mind, that I'll decide she wouldn't be a good enough queen. Is there nothing I could do to make her see that, not only would I never do something so cruel, I believe she would be the best queen out of all the girls that came here?

_You could propose_.

I laugh out loud at the fleeting thought. I couldn't propose then immediately ask her to keep it a secret from everyone else, especially while her parents are here. I definitely can't propose without her father knowing. We've never explicitly discussed it, but I know that is important to her.

Still, I mull it over as I wade through masses of paperwork and briefing notes. There must be some solution.I manage to focus on my work until it is time for dinner with the families, and I find myself so engrossed that my mother has to come find me.

"Sweetheart?" she calls, entering after knocking gently.

"Mother," I say with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Am I not allowed to visit my son?" she teases.

"Of course." I rise and sketch a bow, which never fails to make her laugh.

She pulls me over to the sofa against the wall and sits, gesturing for me to do the same.

"It's nearly time for dinner," she says sheepishly, "but I'm going to make us the tiniest bit late."

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow. This is unusual.

"I just wanted to check in with you," she says, grasping my hand. "I'm sure this is hard for you, and having all the families here doesn't make it easier."

"What was it like for you?" I ask, suddenly curious. I tend to forget that my mother went through this exact same thing. Even the caste issue- I'm sure my grandfather was less than thrilled that my father wanted to marry a Four.

"In what way?"

I laugh cynically. "All of them, but I doubt we'd ever have time for that. I suppose I mean this close to the end. Did you- did Father tell you that he was choosing you before he ended everything? What was it like having your family here before you knew you were staying?"

My mother smiles, but she doesn't seem wholly present. I can only assume she is lost in her memories.

"I would not recommend repeating this, but yes, he did tell me," she admits. "Not long before, but I always had an inkling. He spent more private time with me, out of the eyes of the others. We also had my caste as a barrier, so I had to be aware to work through that. He outright told me he loved me two weeks before he officially proposed."

I nod. We are significantly earlier than my parents' timeline, but the idea is similar.

"I was thrilled to have my family here. Obviously, none of us had ever been somewhere so nice for any extended period of time, so it was nice to enjoy it with them, instead of feeling out of place, since the others were all of higher castes."

"Do you think America feels that way?" I blurt out.

My mother's eyes twinkle with mischief. "Do you think about her often?"

I try not to blush. "Only sometimes. I am fond of her, and I wonder if she has more in common with you than with any of the other girls here."

She nods thoughtfully. "I would say so, yes. You haven't seen much of the lives of lower castes, but it is hard. Though Lady America does seem to have adjusted marvelously," she adds graciously.

I rest my chin on my fingers. "When you said that you would look at my choice through my eyes, that you would support me no matter what, did you really mean it?"

"Oh, my love," my mother sighs, wrapping me in her arms like I'm a boy again. "So much. I promise to love her as if she were my own daughter, no matter who it is. Though I may have a sneaking suspicion," she winks at me as she pulls away. "Come now, we are going to be far too late."

She takes my arm as we walk to the formal dining room, and I bow as I open the door for her. Everyone else is there already, and they rise to greet us. I catch America's eye and smile, but I skip over her quickly, making sure to meet all the other girl's eyes as well. Marlee looks troubled, Elise demure, Natalie excited, Celeste seems… calculating, and Kriss just seems pleased to be here- that's the only read I can ever get off her. I quickly take my seat at the left of the head of the table, greeting my father with a short clap on the back. I survey the room, trying not to linger too long on any one group of people. The Newsomes are engaged with the Whisks family, and Kriss' family seems to be enjoying their conversation with the Lucas.

It comes to me suddenly when I see the Singers sitting next to the Tames family and I find myself wanting to talk to Mr. Singer about what America might like.

_Why couldn't I?_

It would be awkward, to be sure, but I believe it would be my best option at this point. Certainly he would know his daughter best, and now would be an ideal time to ask for his daughter's hand. I know I'll be asking for it eventually.

I spend another moment watching America. She is sitting between her sister and Marlee, across from her parents. I see May whisper something to America, who then looks up to catch me watching them. She elbows Marlee, who looks up as well, and all three of them roll their eyes at me in tandem. My eyebrows _fly_ up my forehead. America is clearly thrilled to have her family here- she _never_ acts like this around other people, let alone roping Marlee into it. Not that I mind. Far from it, in fact.

My father, on the other hand, is less than pleased.

"Ladies would never have behaved so rudely in my Selection," he rumbles. "It is highly inappropriate."

I nod. "I'm sorry, Father. I'll speak to them," I lie,

"See that you do," he says, waving in the next course.

At times like this, I can't wait for him to be gone.

~HtBBaM~

"Justin?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

He's just come in to take my suit away to be pressed and to leave a clean one for tomorrow morning, and I've realized I need him for something else.

"What would the process be if I wanted to look at all the jewelry in the Vault? Not crowns; rings and necklaces specifically."

My butler smiles as he folds my pocket square. "I could bring you a list with descriptions, Your Highness. Or you could go and see them yourself; no one would block your access."

"Hm." Could I go now? Would that be suspicious? "This must seem ignorant, but I suppose I've never had a reasoning to go there. Where in the palace is it located?"

"That doesn't seem ignorant at all, Your Highness. It's on the same sublevel as all the safe rooms, but separate, of course. Would you like me to take you there now?"

"Yes, actually," I decide on a whim. I mark my place in the book I am reading and throw off the blanket covering my legs. "Sorry, but I think I'll need my clothes back."

Justin hands me my pants, shirt, and tie, then bows and leaves the room. I dress quickly, eager to leave.

Justin guides me through the secret passageways, and I recognize turn-offs that would take us to the royal safe room. We don't take any of them, though, and we wind through halls I've never seen before. If my internal sense of direction is correct, and it usually is, we are somewhere underneath the rooms of the Selected.

Justin stops at a door that looks like all the others and presses a latch that reveals a keypad, much like the one that opens the room of banned books I once planned on showing America. There's a loud buzz and then a click, and he pushes the door open. I follow him, amazed that I've never been here before

We reach another door, made of thick steel this time. Justin flips open another keypad, but this one doesn't have any numbers on it. He presses his thumb to the pad and looks into a small hole that's opened just below his eye level. Another buzz, as well as humming from what seems like inside the door. Justin turns a wheel at the center of the door, and it finally swings open.

I knew we were wealthy- we're the royal family of one of the biggest countries in the world, we couldn't be anything else. But this…

There are boxes stacked ten feet tall lining the walls of a room nearly the size of our throne room. There are more piles in the center of the room, and while I can't see inside any of the boxes, this is the Royal Vault. There are only so many things that could be in them

"You said rings and necklaces, Your Highness?"

I nod. "The necklace should be appropriate for everyday wear. The ring will be as well, but can be… more of a statement?" I'm unsure of the terminology- I've never looked for jewelry.

Justin nods. "Let's start with the necklace." He pulls several boxes down from a nearby shelf and leads me over to a counter with bright lights shining down on it. "We have a jeweler on staff, so if there are any details you like to change on any of the pieces, that can be done rather quickly."

He shows me so many necklaces that I could never count them, but none of them are right. I finally decide on silver, or anything that looks like it, over gold- who knew there were so many? Rose gold, yellow gold, even _green_ gold.

America wears her songbird necklace every day, and this will need to go with that. She won't be able to wear an engagement ring for a while, so hopefully a necklace can ease that sting. Rubies aren't right. Sapphires are close, and I make note of a stone that Justin says is called a peacock sapphire, but it's all too… ostentatious. People will certainly notice, especially those who live here in the palace, but there's no need to draw more attention to it than necessary.

Half an hour passes, and we still haven't found anything satisfactory. I run my hand through my hair and sigh.

"I'm sorry, Justin. I'm not trying to be difficult."

"I know, Your Highness. You want something small, subtle, and probably colorless, correct?"

I nod.

"I seem to recall seeing something once that would fit the bill; let me look in the registry and see if I can find it." Justin bows as he vanishes through a side door. I shake my head. I've been trying to get him to stop calling me 'Your Highness' for years, or at least stop bowing, but he refuses. I see him for a moment in the back of the room, digging through the back of a stack, towards the bottom. He gently disassembles a shelf and looks intently at a few boxes.

Finally, he opens a box and lets out a shout of victory, but quiets himself quickly. He deftly puts all the boxes back in their place and trots back over to me.

"I found it!" he announces. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually looking for jewelry."

I nod, taking the box from him. "Perfectly acceptable, Justin. I know I'm being picky."

I open the box, and it is perfect.

"Diamond?" I ask.

"Yes, Your Highness. And white gold."

A rectangular stone about the size of my thumbnail is attached to a delicate chain by the setting. That's what makes it different from the rest- instead of sliding along the chain, the stone's setting is soldered to the chain itself so the diamond would lay lengthwise on the wearer's sternum.

I pull the necklace from the box and hold it to the light.

"I'd like the chain shortened," I say. It looks like it would hand about even with the songbird; America would probably appreciate it being shorter.

"By how much?" Justin asks, pulling out a notepad and marking down a serial number on the inside of the case.

"I'm not sure. Something more similar to that emerald one we looked at?" I'd considered a similar necklace, but it looked like it would rest closer to her collarbones.

"Very good, Your Highness," he says, taking the necklace from me and laying it precisely back in the case. "On to rings?"

I follow him over to another shelf, where he pulls down several boxes; these are much smaller than the necklace boxes.

He opens them all on the counter again, explaining as he goes. "These are all fairly simple, but, as you said, not as subtle. We can swap out stones, or rework settings as you please. Do you have any metal preference?"

"I don't think so," I say as I examine the first ring. It's similar to the peacock sapphire from the necklace, set in platinum, Justin says. The others are all pretty enough, but none feel quite right.

"Am I overthinking this?" I ask Justin. I'm beginning to get frustrated. I've been staring at jewelry for over an hour; I thought it would take twenty minutes at maximum.

"Not at all, Your Highness," he assures me. "I have another one in mind, just a moment."

He steps up on a small step-ladder and retrieves a box from the top shelf. "The royal family acquired this one in the late years of Gregory Illéa's reign, from a Two who was close to the family and left some heirlooms to the Illéas." He hands the box to me and continues as I open it. "There aren't any stones in it- there were originally two, but Queen Abby had them reset into earrings, I believe."

"That's alright," I mumble, examining the band. I recognize the rose gold, and instead of one solid line of metal, this one is a hundred tiny threads woven around each other, converging to support two stones one top. As Justin says, the gems aren't there, but I can see perfectly where they'd fit.

"The stones were diamonds," he tells me, "but there are many colored stones that would go well with rose gold. The peacock sapphire, for one. Chocolate diamonds are popular as well; you saw that in one of the necklaces. You could also choose two different gems, or the setting could be reworked to have only one."

"No, I like having two," I say thoughtfully. Light green would go well- that's my birthstone. America's birthday is February; that's… amethyst. Green and purple, in rose gold? "How do you think peridot and amethyst would look?"

His face is turned towards the notepad, but I see the quirk of his lips nonetheless. "It would be unusual, but very good, in my opinion, Your Highness."

I turn the band over in my fingers a few more times, trying to picture the stones in the ring. I like it.

"That's what I want," I decide. "This ring, with peridot and amethyst."

"And the ring size?"

I hesitate. I know it, of course- that was one of the measurements taken when all the Selected arrived at the palace, and I memorized every bit of information about America the night I met her. But if she is the only girl with a size six, then everyone who is involved in resizing and setting will know who is getting the ring. That could be disastrous.

"If I may," Justin interrupts my thoughts. "All the remaining girls are between five and a half and six and a half. If we split the difference and size it at six, then it will fit initially, though may be uncomfortable, and minor adjustments can be made later if necessary."

"Yes, do that, please." Good. We won't even need to make adjustments.

"When would you like these to be ready, Your Highness?" he asks as he scribbles notes on the pad.

"As soon as possible," I say firmly. "Tomorrow afternoon would be ideal."

"Of course," Justin says, snapping the ring box shut and setting it on a tray. "I will bring them to you as soon as they are finished."

"Thank you, Justin," I say tiredly.

"Would you like me to lead you back?" he asks.

"No, I can find my way." That may require ascending back into the main building, but I can get back. Justin bows, and I walk to the large steel door. "Oh, Justin?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"You may very well see someone wearing that necklace soon. I expect your discretion," I say firmly. I'm sure he would never give anything less, but reminders never hurt.

"Of course, Your Highness," he says with a bow as I exit the Vault.

There's just one more thing to get settled, and I'll be on my way to proposing. The thought is only slightly nerve-racking

~HtBBaM~

I'm hiding. Again

This time, though, it is out of discretion, not fear. That's an improvement at least.

I peek my head around the corner, waiting for Mrs. Singer to turn around the opposite corner before I emerge. As she disappears, I straighten my spine, pulling my jacket and tie into alignment. I rap firmly on their door and step back a bit so as to not crowd Mr. Singer when he opens the door.

"Just open the door, Magda," he says as he pulls the door towards him. "I'm the only one he- oh. Your Highness." He bows, and I wave him off.

"Please, call me Maxon," I say genuinely. I clasp my hands behind my back. "I'd like to speak with you, privately, if you agree."

"Of course," he says, very clearly confused. He moves to let me into the room behind him, but I shake my head.

"I believe the gardens would be best, if you don't mind." Less chance of someone seeing us.

He nods and steps into the hall with me. I gesture down the hall, leading us outside.

"How are you enjoying your stay here, Mr. Singer?" I ask politely. _I hope I rehearsed enough._

"It's been lovely," he says, voice level. "Of course, we've heard quite a bit from America, but it isn't quite the same as seeing it."

"No, I imagine not," I say with a half-smile. It's not lost on me that he didn't ask me to use his given name, though I'm not bothered by it. "But you've been treated well?"

He hesitates, but says "Yes, of course."

I breathe deeply as we walk outside. The scent of freshly turned earth intertwined with sweet florals will always be one of my favorites. Not least because this very spot is where America told me she loved me for the first time. And I her. Which reminds me.

"I hope you feel comfortable speaking frankly with me, Mr. Singer," I say, channeling every lesson in manners Silvia ever gave me.

He nods in acknowledgement. "Well then, to be frank, we are the lowest caste here. A few people are not afraid to make their distaste known."

I sigh. "I am sorry about that. I assume you are speaking of the Newsomes. I hope you know that their sentiments are not felt in the royal family." _Well. I suppose Father might agree, but he can't say it out loud._

Mr. Singer nods again. "Of course. I hope you would speak frankly with me, as well. I doubt you sought me out to gossip about your other guests."

I give him a small smile as we round a corner, officially out of range of any of the windows or balconies of the palace. "No, that's correct. Actually, Mr. Singer, I have a rather awkward question for you."

"Go on."

"I wonder- that is, I was hoping- Well, actually, I thought-," _Damn. I did not rehearse enough._

"Just say it, son," he says, a smile playing at his lips. "I won't judge you for the words you use at the moment; I've been in your shoes."

He has, I marvel. This experience is one that every man shares, regardless of caste or creed. Some might argue that I have a leg up in this situation, due to my birth, but we've established that titles are irrelevant in this conversation, I believe.

I clear my throat. "Very well then.

"Mr. Singer, I am in love with your daughter, and she feels the same. You know her best, so I wanted to know, hypothetically, how you think America might feel about my proposing soon, then having to keep our engagement a secret. Hypothetically. Provided you grant your permission, of course," I amend.

He doesn't answer. We continue walking, his hands in his pockets. I start to run my hand through my hair, then think better of it at the last second.

After another few moments of tense silence, Mr. Singer finally speaks.

"America is not one who would appreciate being left out of things-"

I laugh abruptly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Yes, I am aware."

He gives a small smile, but it's genuine. "So I've heard. I don't apologize for her behavior, though I'm sure she might."

I laugh again, grinning widely. "Yes, but she'd never admit it to anyone else. I don't really mind."

He laughs softly, staring a bit too intensely at a rosebush to be casual. "Hypothetically, I think it would be your best option at this point. I won't pretend to understand the stress both of you are under right now, but, as you say, I know America.

"She second guesses herself- she never believed that she could be a successful musician until she went out and did it. I think something similar will happen here. She's going to have a hard enough time adjusting to being royalty; we've already talked about it, in fact, so it would be in your best interest to give her as few reasons to doubt you as possible."

"That was my thought as well," I agree. "I wonder though, if having the other girls here would make it too hard on her, to have to hide everything."

"Oh, that's an easy answer," he says surely, before clamming up. "I probably shouldn't have said that. How much do you know about how America spent her time in Carolina?" he asks cautiously.

My mind immediately jumps to Officer Leger. "A fair amount, I'd say. Is there something specific you're referring to?"

He sighs. "And about her friends?"

I choose my words carefully. I'm nearly certain he's referring to Leger, but America is so sure her family doesn't know anything about that. I won't be the one to give up her secret. But he's clearly trying to make a point, and how will he make it if we continue dancing in circles around it?

"I know she had a boyfriend that she tried to hide from you," I say slowly. "It seems she didn't succeed?"

"Not even close," he says with a laugh, and I see a glimpse of the man who fell to the floor in joy upon seeing his daughter for the first time in months. "Yes, I knew when she snuck out and I know his name. Do you?"

"Yes," I sigh in relief. "Thank goodness."

Mr. Singer laughs again. "Imagine that you were in America's position, then, since it should be easier for you with him here. You and Aspen are both publicly fighting to marry her, and she says she loves you, but every time she goes on a date with him, he comes back besotted," he proposes.

_Ha. 'Proposes'. How fitting._

"Would you rather wonder if she's telling both of you that she loves you, or know for a fact that she's chosen you?" he continues.

"There's no question," I say quickly. "That's helpful, thank you."

"Of course." He inclines his head slightly. Almost a bow, but not quite. A reminder that there's still one more thing to do.

We've come into view of the palace again, and I look up at a window I know is in the Women's Room. I think I see a flash of red hair, but I could be wrong.

"I know that I don't have to tell you that I can provide for her physically; obviously, that will never be a hardship. That extends to your family as well. For security purposes, you will all likely have to move here, or nearby. I'm not sure if you knew that. But I would like to assure you that I will do my best to provide for her emotionally, as well. I don't want you to think that her caste or background has anything to do with my choosing her.

"Well," I amend. "I suppose it does in the sense that those things may be why America is who she is. But this isn't a political decision. I truly care for her, and I would like to live the rest of my life proving that to her."

"I'm glad to hear that," Mr. Singer says thoughtfully. "I was worried about that. I know that you have to worry about public image, but I won't have my daughter being a pawn in your games."

"Never," I vow. "I would never."

He nods, but doesn't say anything.

"Well." I take a deep breath. "I'd like to officially ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."

"Would you, now?" His eyes glitter with laughter. It's kind, though- almost like he is making fun of me.

I fight the blush creeping up my neck. "Yes. Mr. Singer, may I have your permission to ask America to marry me?"

He extends his hand for me to shake. "You may," he says certainly, fully smiling for the first time today. "Call me Shalom."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a day late because I have no idea what's going on in my life. So without further ado, here are Maxon's thoughts during chapter 20 of PtG! See you tomorrow morning for our regularly scheduled programming. Thanks for reading!

"What do you expect me to do about it, America?" I ask, fully fed up with this conversation.

"I don't _know_ ," she throws back. "I'm sorry I don't respond well to my fiancé cuddling with other girls in front of me!"

"Shh!" Does she want everyone to hear us? Does she have any idea what kind of disaster that would be?

"Oh, please," she rolls her eyes. "They can't hear us; I'm not stupid."

"I would have said the same," I say through gritted teeth, "but you are behaving irrationally. We _knew_ this would happen, and I _told_ you I would be with them last night. She could barely _walk_ when she got to the doors, of course I carried her in!"

"I'm positive one of the guards offered to do it, Maxon Schreave, but you volunteered as always," she fires back, hands on her hips and venom flying out with her words. "What, do you need a backup in case you decide I'm not worth the effort?"

I shut my eyes and inhale. My anger softens a little- I know that's a real fear she has, but won't admit.

"You _know_ that's not what's going on, America Singer," I say in a low voice. I'm not quite ready to be kind and sympathetic. "Neither of us got much sleep last night, and we both have work to do. I'll talk to you later."

I walk off, leaving America behind me to do whatever she's going to do. If she's not going to trust me, then we don't need to talk about it. Once I get back into sight of everyone working outside, I pull my shoulders back and straighten the shoulders of my coat, coming up next to my father at our table of advisors.

My father cuts me a glance and I see him catch sight of America making her way back to her table with Kriss.

He doesn't say anything, but I'm sure he would if we were in private.

I accept a folder that someone hands me with a nod. I quickly glance at the overview of the Illéan economy as my father grills all the advisors about why our budget for the palace staff has been cut.

"We have the added expense of the Selection, Your Majesty," Evans defends, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. If anyone can talk him down, the finance advisor will be able to do it. "We also are furthering the prince's food initiative. While saving the payments to the Selected was helpful, as well as sending many of them home so quickly, we are still housing and clothing five young women, many of whom expect a certain… standard from the palace."

I shuffle the papers in front of me, avoiding my father's eyes. I'd end it tomorrow if he'd let me. I don't know if he thinks that's a good thing or a bad thing.

A large figure catches my eye, in the defense budget.

"This looks more inflated than it needs to be," I mention cautiously. "We could siphon off something from there."

"That would be my suggestion as well, Your Highness," Evans agrees. My father flicks a corner of the report in his hand, which he only does when he's angry.

"No, we need to be firm with New Asia," he decides. "I'd sacrifice jobs here before I sacrifice supplies there."

The advisors chorus their agreement. Like they could do anything other than agree with what he says- he's fired others for less.

They move onto another item on the agenda, my father pointedly deflecting any questions I ask or statements I make. I look up to see America watching us and I wave, but Kriss is the one who waves back. Wonderful. I smile, and excuse myself to move to the refreshment table to take a moment to myself.

Of course, that is too much to hope for. As soon as I've poured a glass of water, Celeste has made her way over.

"Good afternoon, Lady Celeste," I say, bowing shortly to her.

"Oh, please," she simpers. "Haven't I told you to just call me Celeste?" She sways closer to me, pulling her red painted lip between her teeth.

Just then, Kriss comes up, and I automatically offer her my arm, to help with her injury.

"Thank you, Your Highness," she says quietly as she leans on me and takes the weight off her ankle. I glance back to America to see her watching us all intensely.

I smirk and turn back to Celeste and Kriss.

"- isn't it, Your Highness?" Kriss looks up at me.

"Hm?" I move my arm to her waist to ease the sting of my rudeness. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

Celeste tosses her hair over her shoulder. "We were just discussing how lovely the gardens are."

"Quite. I might go so far as to say they are my favorite place in the palace, but there are other places I enjoy as well."

_Smooth_.

"I think I might enjoy the libraries the most," Kriss adds. "I love books."

"Ugh. Books are so boring though." Celeste gently adjusts her necklace, drawing my attention to the neckline of her dress, which is nearly too low for civilized company. I quickly avert my eyes, sharing a small smile with Kriss.

"Yes," she says calmly. "Some are, but there are-"

We all look over at the men as my father yells at another advisor- MacMillan, I think. He's usually the one that provokes my father the most. Naturally, he's one of my favorites

"Rebels!" a guard yells. "Run!"

I look around the gardens, suddenly on edge.

"What?" another guard calls back, as confused as the rest of us.

"Rebels! Inside the palace! They're coming!"

I remember the words that the rebels carved into the walls last night

_**WE'RE COMING**_.

I turn to see my mother's maids guiding her towards the far side of the palace, some pulling her faster and some blocking her from behind. Good. They'll get to the safe room fastest that way. Celeste bolts after her, rightly assuming that will be the safest way to go.

I start to tell Kriss to follow, but one look at the terror in her eyes reminds me that she is in no shape to outrun anyone. I scoop her into my arms and find the nearest guard to hand her off to. I still need to get America out.

"Run!" I order whoever has taken her; I don't have time to see who it is. "Run!"

"Maxon, no!" Kriss calls back as he hurries away with her.

I ignore her as gunshots ring out from inside the palace. Elise and Natalie are gone; they must have followed my mother as well. My father and the advisors are flurrying to tuck documents into their suits. America is still sitting at the table, staring at the swarm of rebels now flooding out of the palace.

_What the hell is she doing?_

She runs, finally, but into the woods.

"America!" I yell. "No! Come back!" I start to follow her, but my father yanks me back by my shirt.

"No, you don't, boy," he growls. "You are infinitely more valuable than she."

Guards start firing at the rebels following America into the woods, and a few falter, but not enough.

"Stand down!" I shriek, tearing at my father's grip. "You'll hit her! Cease fire!"

"You'll do no such thing," my father orders firmly as America disappears. He wrestles me back to the palace as I scream at the guards to cease fire, but I'm too distracted to really fight him.

Once we get into the palace, my father pushes me forward, and I nearly fall to the floor.

" _Never_ presume to risk your life for someone else. There is no one more important than you in this country," he says coldly as we run towards the safe room. "If you die before you have an heir, this monarchy ends. If you love her more than you love your country, I have failed in raising you."

"I can love both and serve both," I argue. "They are not conflicting interests."

"They are in situations like that. You would have chased after her had I not held you back and that is unacceptable."

I hold my tongue as we descend down into the sublevels to the safe room. We are the last to arrive- maids are massaging my mother's hands and temples, and the rest of the Elite are huddled together in cots on the other side of the room.

My father quickly turns to my mother, and I make my way over to the girls. At least they're all together- I can talk to them all at the same time this way.

Their hushed voices quickly silence as I get closer and sit on the edge of the bed across from them.

They stare at me as I search for words. "I- are any of you hurt?"

Natalie, Elise, and Kriss shake their heads silently, still wide-eyed.

Celeste laughs quietly. "They'd have to try harder than that to get me."

"I'm sure," I say with a forced smile. America is twice the woman Celeste will ever be and who knows what's happening to her right now? "Lady Kriss, is your ankle alright?"

"Oh, yes. Officer Leger was very gentle."

_Damn. I didn't know that was_ him.

"I'm glad," I tell her. Truly, I am. I just wish America were in here, safe, to be mad at me.

"Where's America?" Natalie asks, hugging her knees to her chest.

I sit up as straight as an arrow, pulling my public persona over my fear.

"She ran into the woods," I inform them. Kriss looks suspicious, like she noticed my change in demeanor, but people rarely do. "There are guards out looking for her as we speak." At least, I assume there are. There had better be.

"What about the rebels?" Elise reminds me. "That's two attacks in as many days."

I nod. "They didn't appear to be violent this time. I don't know much right now, but no one appeared to be seriously injured." They looked like Northerners, with their clothes, and there weren't enough gun shots for it to be the Southerners.

"So America should be okay," Kriss presses.

I nod. "I sincerely hope so. I'll let you all know if she's found, as soon as I know anything. Now, if you'll excuse me."

I stand and button my suit coat before making my way back to my parents.

I sit in the open chair at the round table pushed aside for us and turn towards Mother.

"Are you alright?" I ask, looking her up and down. She doesn't seem to be hurt, though I'm certain she'll have a headache tonight.

"Yes, thank you," she smiles. "My maids have it well in hand. And you?"

My facade slips for just a moment, but I force it back into place. "I'm fine. Worried, of course, for everyone, but nothing more."

She reaches out to clasp my hand in hers. "It's alright to be worried for her," she whispers. "I am too. Everything will be alright."

My father tosses a stack of paperwork to me that he took from the gardens. "Here. While we're stuck down here, you may as well make yourself useful."

I sigh and bend my head over the military expense report. If nothing else, it does take my mind off imagining horrible things happening to America.

But not for long.

~HtBBaM~

An hour or two later, they finally sound the all-clear. I rush out the door, quickly finding a guard.

"Has Lady America been found?"

"No, Your Highness," he bows. "We will alert you as soon as… anything is found."

My stomach drops to the floor. They aren't expecting to bring her back. Just-

No. I won't think it.

"No," I swallow thickly. "I don't wish to be disturbed for the time being. I will ask when I am available."

"Sir." The guard bows and turns away to help Kriss get back to her room. I walk down a corridor away from everyone else, away from people that expect a certain level of composure from me, away from my responsibilities.

I wind through the tunnels, not thinking of anything. My mind is blank. If I'm not thinking of what it will be like if she comes back, then I'm not thinking about what it will be like if she doesn't. To think of one is to think of the other, so I can do neither. Once I'm sure that I'm away from anyone who might hear me, I let myself think aloud.

"Okay," I say to no one. "Worst case. She- she doesn't come back. They take her, and they- she can't come back." I take a deep breath and slide down the wall to sit on the floor. "We search. We search until…" Not forever. I can't- I can't become that king. The one who chased something for years after everyone told him it was gone. "Until Mother tells me to stop," I decide. She'll know. She'll know when… when it's been enough.

"Other worst case," I say more quietly. "We find her and… we can't save her. It's too late." I can't make myself say the words. "What do I do then?"

I'll never be happy; I know that much. Will I become as cold as my father? Did he ever lose someone like this, or was he born this way? I'll have to end the Selection. If- if one of the girls- I couldn't keep a competition going like that.

Would I pick one of the remaining girls, or would I start over again?

It couldn't be Kriss. She'd always remind me that she was second, and every time I'd look at her I'd wish she was America.

Who am I kidding; I'll think that no matter who I marry.

But I have to marry.

Not Celeste, I couldn't stomach that.

Elise could be useful. But she's so… spineless. I'd always wish she had more fire in her, like America.

This isn't going well.

It would have to be Natalie. I could forget about her when I needed to. My life would be going through the motions, but I could do it.

I wonder if she'd be open to a... celibate marriage. We'd need an heir, preferably two, but there are ways around that. If she wanted to have someone else, I wouldn't mind, as long as she could keep it secret.

"Okay," I say to the floor. "Worst case, I marry Natalie and go through the motions for the rest of my life. I… I can do that."

I rest my head on my knees, letting a few tears soak into my pants.

"Best case," I whisper, "she comes back. She's fine. Maybe she overheard the rebels in the woods but none of them saw her, and it will be a good thing. We tell everyone that we're engaged in a month or two. We're married by March. We'll be okay."

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and stand up. I roll my shoulders and button my jacket. I am Maxon Calix Schreave, heir to the throne of Illéa. I can weather any storm, outlast any attack. I may come out of it as a shadow of myself, but I will come out of it.

I make my way back to the main level and pull myself back together. I quickly run into a guard after closing the passage behind me.

"Your Highness," he acknowledges with a bow.

"Officer Avery," I nod back. "Has Lady America been found?"

"No, sir," he says with a frown. "There's a group out searching for her now; we won't stop until we've searched every inch of that forest."

"See that you don't," I order. I make my way back to my room and lock the door behind me.

With every minute they don't find her, it becomes less and less likely they will. Should I join them? I know her better, maybe I'll find something- no, they'd just be on edge guarding me, that wouldn't be helpful. I stand on my balcony, looking out over the forest. She has to be out there.

I won't-

I can't-

She has to be okay.

I go back inside and pace back and forth at the foot of my bed, eyes trained on the floor. I won't look at my wall- too many photos of her. What if they are all I have left of us?

She's fine, probably hiding in a tree.

Maybe she found a weapon of some kind, and was able to fight her way through, but she got lost.

I should take a shower; spending time in a safe room always leaves me a bit disheveled.

Does that even matter? That doesn't matter.

Maybe I should. If she comes back in the middle of the night, I don't want her to think that I didn't care to make sure I was clean.

I fiddle with my gun case and pull one out to clean it. The bullets are kept in the stables, so there's no risk, but I make sure to keep my finger away from the trigger, even after I've disassembled it.

I usually enjoy cleaning my rifles. It's methodical. I've been doing it for so long that I don't have to think about it, which is usually a gift. Right now it is not.

I try reading next, but I can't focus on the words long enough to comprehend the point of the chapter. My mind flashes through images that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Left on the forest floor. Blood pooling beneath her head. Eyes wide and unseeing. Then another-

Hung from a tree, facing away from me. Swaying in the breeze. Someone has placed a twisted diadem of twigs on her brow. Then another-

Carried back to me by a guard. Arms hanging loose at her sides. Then another-

Sitting against a tree. So serene she could be sleeping- were it not for the wound in the center of her forehead. A dark circle. Blood dripping between her empty eyes. Then another-

A shallow grave dug in the hard dirt. A single pale shoe left sitting in the leaves. Then-

"STOP!" I bellow as my knees collapse beneath me, clutching my head. _No more._

How is it that I can look at hundreds of photos of slain soldiers in New Asia with nothing more than a lingering sense of failure, when I can't even think of her name anymore? Shouldn't I care for my subjects the same way I care for her?

Is this just more proof that I will be nothing more than a mediocre king? That I can't care about my subjects unless I know them personally?

If that is the kind of person I am now, what kind of person will I be once she's gone?

I pull myself to standing with the windowsill. I turn my head, just for a moment, and see a contingent of guards coming towards the palace. Another group, and nothing to show-

Wait.

Her hair has come undone, and there are no shoes on her feet. Her head rests on the chest of a guard I don't recognize, one arm strewn across her abdomen and the other hanging down; swinging with every gentle step he takes.

If she were still here, they'd be rushing her to the hospital wing.

Her eyes would be open.

She would never let anyone carry her if she could walk on her own.

I watch until they've crossed out of sight, memorizing the red of her hair against the cream of her skin. Will I be able to remember the exact blue of her eye next week? Next year?

I rest my open palm on the window, right over where I saw her last.

"I love you, America Singer, my darling. Forever."

I'll have obligations tomorrow. I should probably get things done tonight. This has never happened before.

But for now, I sit on the floor, staring at nothing, feeling my grief dull as I cover it in blankets of heavy apathy. No one can ever know. No one can ever know that rebels were allowed to break into the palace and-

And-

And-

And-

_Do it_ , my father's voice commands. _Get over your childish feelings. Illéa does not need your weakness._

No one can ever know that the rebels were allowed to break into the palace and kill their future queen.

And with that thought, I shatter into a million pieces, held together only by the constraints of duty.

~HtBBaM~

Several knocks sound against my door throughout the rest of the afternoon. I don't answer, and there are only two people in the palace who would dare open the crown prince's locked door.

One of them, it appears, was impatient.

Habit has me straightening my shoulders, tugging my tie closer to my collar. He won't approve of my sitting on the floor, but I find that I don't give a damn.

Fortunately, I don't need to.

"Maxon?" my mother calls softly from the door. I don't recall the last time she used her key to my door.

"Here." My voice is hoarse and weak. My father would be ashamed.

"What are you doing, my love?" Her voice is full of concern, coming over to sit on the floor with me. I haven't seen her do that since… I don't recall the last time she did that either.

"I- I don't know."

"You were told that they found America, weren't you?"

I shrug, unable to focus my eyes on anything. "I think they tried. I saw- I saw them bring her back."

"I'm surprised that you aren't with her," Mother says gently. "No one would blame you; it would be understandable."

"I can't- I don't want to- I just can't."

Her brow furrows. Why is this so hard for her to understand?

"Did you two have an argument? I'm sure that it's nothing that can't be resolved."

The ice in my veins turns to dry ice. The last thing she ever heard me say was that she was stupid. I am a monster.

"Maxon?" Mother comes to sit beside me, taking my hand in hers. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. You know you can tell me anything."

"How can I possibly go on?" I whisper. I made a plan, but… I can't imagine seeing it through.

My mother frowns. "As we always do. The rebels are a nuisance, sometimes a dangerous one, but few people were hurt this time."

I wrench my hand from hers. "How can you _say_ that?"

"I'm- Maxon, what did you see when they brought her back?"

"I _can't_." I will never be able to describe it. To anyone.

"Maxon Schreave," she says firmly. "Look at me." Our eyes meet, and I didn't know it was possible for me to feel such contempt for my mother. " _What did you see_?" she demands.

"A- a guard was carrying her b- her," I mumble, turning to staring at my ankles. "She could have been sleeping."

"Maxon." I can hear the smile in her voice and it makes me _sick_. "She _was_ sleeping."

_So, we're using euphemisms now?_

"Yes, I know."

"No, Maxon," Mother says gently, turning my face towards her. "She was _sleeping_. She woke up once they got to the hospital wing, and convinced Dr. Ashlar to let her recover in her rooms. She is _fine_ , I promise."

"What?"

"Go to her, sweetheart. I'm sure she's waiting."

I'm running out the door before she's finished her sentence, nearly crashing into several tables as I careen down the hallways.

She's alive.

She's fine.

She's waiting for me.

I'm sure I reach her room in record time, but that's not something I waste time thinking about. I knock quickly and let myself in, too impatient for anything like courtesy.

America is sleeping in her bed, like I've seen so many times before.

"Your Highness." Anne jumps into a curtsey from her chair in the corner, startling me from my examination of any injuries she might have.

"Is she alright?" I beg.

"Perfectly," she grins. "Some scrapes and bruises, and a little sore, but she'll be right as rain in a few days."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I've been holding since I entered the room. "Anything to keep an eye on?"

"I'll be here throughout the night in case she needs anything, but no specifics, Your Highness."

I nod. "You may go, I'll stay with her."

"It's no trouble at all-"

"Please," I interrupt. "I want to."

Anne nods and curtseys again. "Of course."

I pull a chair over to the side of America's bed while Anne gathers her things and approaches the door.

"If I might, Your Highness," she says tentatively, "Lady America hasn't said anything, but I'm very happy for you both, if my suspicions are correct."

I smile and bring America's knuckles to my lips. "Thank you."

Anne curtseys again, shutting the door softly behind her.

"You are never allowed to do that to me again," I murmur. "I have never felt like that before in my life, and I never want to again."

America mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over onto her side, facing me. I brush a few strands of hair from her eyes, tucking them behind her ear.

I fold our hands together so I can feel her pulse thudding against my wrist if I focus.

"I love you, America Singer, my darling," I whisper as I brush a kiss onto her forehead, then her nose and cheeks. I refuse to let my most recent speaking of those words stand for any longer. "Forever."


End file.
